The Bone Labyrinth (18 page)

From a side hall, a cadre of four soldiers appeared, guarding a pair of older men who looked exhausted, their wrists also bound behind them. Another two soldiers carried a large coffin-like crate at the team’s rear. He imagined the group had come from the military helipads that serviced this facility.

He gazed anxiously in that direction and remembered arriving here ten months ago himself, so hopeful, so proud. His eyes now clouded with tears, picturing his elderly mother, who loved to visit the tea gardens of Shanghai, and his younger sister, who doted upon her. He also remembered the glow of his girlfriend’s eyes in the dark, the brush of her lips.

Voices drew his attention closer. The newly arrived captives whispered to each other in English, searching all around. The pair was rushed headlong, most likely being taken to Major General Lau’s office. Quon caught the eyes of the older of the two gentlemen. The man looked equally scared, but his voice was steady, his accent British. The stranger called to Quon, perhaps sensing an ally in someone similarly under guard.

“You there! What is this place?”

Quon knew enough English to understand and forced out one word, both warning and description of this place: “
dìyù . . .
” He craned back as they passed and repeated. “
Tā shì dìyù!
”

The strangers were swept down the hall and away from him, but the other captive’s shocked exclamation trailed back to Quon, this one’s words flavored by a French accent.

“That man said . . . he said
this place is hell
.”

Quon wanted to cry out, to tell them more, but his back exploded with pain as the electric prod bit into his side. He gasped and kept his feet only because of the iron grip on his elbow.

He was half dragged, half prodded down the rest of the hall and through a warren of other passageways. In neighboring rooms, he spotted pens of sheep, even stalls holding the shaggy bulks of yaks. Finally they reached a tall archway over a large black steel door. A sign above it glowed in fiery crimson.

“No!” Quon moaned, reading the name.

The Ark.

Rumors were whispered about this vault, though few had ever seen what was hidden behind those tall steel doors.

One of the guards placed his palm on a blue-glowing reader on the neighboring wall. Moments later, the thick vault swung open with a sigh of hydraulics.

A gust of cold air reached Quon, smelling of something muskier than even the yaks he had passed. The hairs on his neck stood on end. He backed away, responding with an instinctual terror. But strong hands gripped his shoulders. His wrists were cut free, and he was shoved through the opening.

He fell to his knees just beyond the threshold, finding himself inside a cage. Beyond the thick bars, a large habitat opened, cut out of the natural bedrock. The walls rose twenty meters high, forming a steep-walled pit, the floor strewn with black boulders. To either side, the cliff faces were pitted with caves, some close to the ground, others higher up.

As he cowered, the vault sealed behind him.

His heart pounded harder in his chest.

Please, no . . .

From the caves, shadows stirred. Then closer at hand, one of the boulders shifted, unfolding to reveal an inexplicable horror.

Quon screamed, scrabbling back against the steel vault—as the door to his small cage rattled upward.

SECOND

T0HE RELIC OF EVE

Σ

10

April 30, 5:45
A
.
M
. CEST

Zagreb, Croatia

Gray read the mix of hope and fear in Lena Crandall’s face as he entered the small kitchen. Hand-hewn rafters supported the low ceiling, while the walls were exposed bricks dating back to the seventeenth century. The kitchen belonged to the rectory of Saint Catherine’s Church in Zagreb, the capital of Croatia. The geneticist was seated at an old oak-plank table at the back. Behind her, a fire crackled and popped in a soot-blackened stone fireplace.

“Is there any news about Maria?” Lena asked.

Seichan also looked on expectantly. She pushed away from the neighboring counter and passed him a steaming mug of coffee. He accepted it, while also nabbing a cheese pastry from a platter behind her—something called
štrukli
—and crossed to the table.

“I did get an update from Washington,” Gray said. “They’re still monitoring the GPS tracker believed to be with your sister’s party, but they’re only getting an intermittent signal.”

Lena lowered her eyes, her hands clasped tightly together atop the table. “Those monitoring bands were meant for short-range use. A precaution to help us keep track of Baako if he should ever lose himself in the center’s woods or get beyond the fences.”

Gray tried to picture that hybrid gorilla. During last night’s treacherous ride over the stormy mountains from Ogulin to Zagreb, Lena had described her research study—along with its unusual subject. The raid of that primate research center had to be connected to the attack here.

But how and why?

He pictured Kowalski’s face, wondering if the man was still alive.

Lena looked equally fearful for her twin sister.

He tried to reassure her. “For now the tracker is continuing to work, well enough for us to know the signal is moving west across the Pacific. We have a team already in the air, following and narrowing that gap. Once the kidnappers make landfall, we’ll close a noose around them.”

He avoided mentioning Painter’s larger fear: that these two attacks were likely orchestrated by a faction out of China. If so, rescuing Maria’s group after they reached the mainland could prove problematic at best.

Impossible at worst.

Lena raised another worry. “Those bands remain charged for only a day or so. If the batteries go out before they land, there’ll be no tracking them after that.”

Gray settled to a bench at the table. Painter hadn’t mentioned that detail.

If he even knew about it.

Either way, there was not much more Gray could do to help. Painter had assigned him to get Lena safely back to the States. They were awaiting details and instructions concerning that itinerary.

“What about Professor Wrightson and Dr. Arnaud?” Lena asked.

He shook his head. If the British geologist and French paleontologist were still alive, they were likely long gone from the area. His priority was to maintain a low profile, to keep Lena’s survival under wraps until she could be extracted. Father Novak had helped facilitate that, offering the use of his church once they had reached the city, a place to hole up for the remainder of the night. They had all gotten a few hours of sleep on some cots in a back room, but sunrise was only an hour away.

It would soon be time to get moving again.

A scuff of boots drew Gray’s attention to the kitchen door. Roland Novak entered, hauling a large book—the size of an atlas—under one arm. He carried a smaller book in his other hand, along with a rectangular metallic plate. The young priest appeared haggard, with saddlebags under his bloodshot eyes. It didn’t look like he had slept at all. Still, he trembled with excitement.

“You should all see this,” he pronounced as he crossed to the table, drawing Seichan along with him.

He placed the larger book on the table, its giant cover bound in leather with gilt lettering spelling out its title:
Mundus Subterraneus
.

“This is a copy of a book Father Athanasius Kircher published in 1665,” he stated, then placed the smaller book beside this larger volume. “And this is the tome we found in that other cave—a journal, I believe, that belonged to the reverend father.”

Gray stared down at the labyrinth inscribed on its cover.

Earlier, Roland and Lena had described what they had discovered in that cavern system under the mountains: a Gothic chapel preserving the remains of a Neanderthal man, whose bones were later stolen by the attackers. The chapel also seemed to have a historical connection to this Athanasius Kircher, a seventeenth-century Jesuit priest who might have removed another set of bones, possibly those of a female Neanderthal.

Roland must have used these past hours to investigate this thread. The priest’s passion—not to mention his fortitude in the face of danger—reminded Gray of a younger version of a dear friend, another Vatican priest who had died in the pursuit of ancient truths.

I could use your counsel now, Vigor.

Honoring that memory, Gray listened as Roland continued.

“Unfortunately,” the man said, “whatever was written in this journal was destroyed over the centuries, leaving only a few clues.”

“Like the key we found,” Lena added. From a pocket, she removed a large key and placed it atop the table. Despite the aged tarnish, a cherub and an arch of skulls were clearly visible atop it.

Roland nodded. “I have no idea what lock fits that particular key, but I decided to investigate the most obvious clue first.” He traced the outer edge of the labyrinth on the cover. “I thought this maze looked familiar. I believe it’s a depiction of a labyrinth from ancient Crete, where according to mythology the infamous Minotaur was caged. Look at this.”

The priest tugged a manila folder from the pages of the larger book and slipped free a printed page showing an old silver coin. “This was minted in Knossos, the capitol of Crete.”

Gray compared the labyrinth on the coin to the maze on the book’s cover. “They’re almost an exact match.”

“And from my research, it’s not just in Crete where you’ll see this labyrinth. Petroglyphs of this pattern have been carved into stones all around the globe. You can find them across Italy, Spain, Ireland, even as far north as Finland. And it’s not just petroglyphs. The ancient Indian Sanskrit epic the Mahabharata describes a military formation known as Padmavyuha that is laid out in this same pattern.”

“Interesting.” Lena shifted the photo of the coin closer to her. “It’s almost like some fundamental knowledge of this shape was shared among the ancient peoples of the world and became incorporated into their mythology. In Crete, it was the Minotaur’s lair. In India, it was a battle formation.”

“Possibly it represents a real place.” Roland stared down at the journal’s cover. “Either way, I imagine this design had to be important if Father Kircher inscribed it here. So I sought out other examples of the reverend father’s interest in such labyrinths—and found many in this volume.”

The priest laid his palm atop the large copy of
Mundus Subterraneus
.

Seichan settled to a seat next to Lena. “So who exactly was this priest? I never heard of him.”

Roland smiled as he pulled open the cover of the large book. Gray knew Roland had been summoned to that archaeological site because of his vast knowledge concerning this Jesuit priest. If anyone knew how this all might tie together, it would be this man.

The priest stopped at a page bearing a portrait of a man in a frock and peaked hat.